Ten Things to Hate About Hogwarts
by Delirium's Child
Summary: I was reading something about MarySues in HP fics... and I decided to write this. The perfect girl who has the perfect life now must go to Hogwarts. The Horror! What pairings will she disrupt? How Pollyanna can she be? What dark Secrets are hidden?...
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, the characters, the plots, the critters, any of it. I am making no money from this so don't sue. Wouldn't be worth the time anyways. This disclaimer covers this entire story. I'm sure you don't need to read it every chapter anyway

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Chapter 1. 

Galadriel Liandra Goldhart had the perfect life. She was 15, beautiful, intelligent, popular, and her parents were not that un-cool. Come to think of it, all her friends thought her parents Audric and Alyssande Goldhart were downright awesome. Her parents were two of the best Aurors in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, in fact, they were quite possibly the best witch and wizard in the entire Bureau of Magical Affairs. The fact that they were friends with many wizard celebrities and threw fabulous parties which Galadriel's friends were welcome to attend didn't hurt their status either. 

The Goldhart family lived happily in their spacious suburban home, entertaining whenever Audric and Alyssande were home, and Galadriel attended the prestigious Goldwood Academy of Magic, the best magic school in America. At Goldwood Galadriel was one of the most popular girls; she and her best friends Guinevere Lyons and Helena Thermopolis were centerpieces of the In Crowd. They were the stars of the Aerobatics team, performing death-defying broom stunts during rallies for the Varsity Quodpod team or at local wizarding events. Galadriel was also a member of the Goldenwood Gazelles, the school's dance team. Goldenwood's philosophy stressed the importance of a well rounded education, and provided countless clubs, teams, activities, and diversions to that end. There were plays, dances, elections, debates, teams, clubs, and seminars, almost all of which Galadriel and her friends participated in. 

But, unfortunately, the Fates are very fickle and thus nothing lasts forever. So it was revealed when Galadriel Goldhart's perfect world came to a terrible crashing end one gorgeous summer day, which is where we will truly begin this story. 

It was the end of June, summer vacation was in full swing, and Galadriel had spent a perfect day with perfect friends at the perfectly pristine lake, perfecting her tan. 

"Gala!" Helena called, wading out of the lake and attempting to push several locks of damp black hair out of her eyes. "Gala, you'll be at Helena's party Saturday? And you can't forget that Wednesday we're meeting at Rowena's!" 

"I'll remember," Gala muttered sleepily from her towel. 

"No you won't. You missed Hunter's birthday bash last week, and Aislinn's party before that!" Guinevere complained from her spot on the towel beside Gala's. 

"You're one to talk," Galadriel sat up and glared at the auburn-haired girl. "You totally forgot about _my_ Midsummer Eve party!" Helena snickered. 

"Yeah, but you got her back, Gala- she had to hear about Aislinn and Val's fight scene from you…"

Guinevere turned to look at her best friends, prepared to sulk… her jaw dropped suddenly, "Oh my god Gala… did you put something on your hair? It's streaked _platinum_!" 

The blond laughed. "I had Mom put a color-change spell on it… it was solar activated." 

"Sweet!" yelped Guin admiringly. "I wish my mother would even consider being so nice! I swear she lives in Gidget land." Guinevere clasped her hands and gave a sigh, "Dye your hair? Boys never pin girls with dyed hair! And Gee whiz, what would Moondoggie think?" 

Gala and Helena laughed, remembering a night long past when, bored and restless, they'd found the movie Gidget at Guin's house (her father wax a wizard, her mother a muggle) and had made the unfortunate choice to watch it. But before more memories of that particular movie could be dredged up, they were interrupted by the abrupt Apparation of Helena's mother. Circe Thermopolis had worked with the Goldharts for several years and her clothing was always tailored, her ebony hair impeccable, her make up flawless. Yet now she looked slightly windblown, and her flawless face had an oddly pale and pinched look. 

"Girls, I'm afraid we need to leave. Now." She was using her Official Orders voice. The teenagers simply stared. 

"Mom, we were getting ready to… we'll be home in a few minutes!" Helena said.

Her mother shook her head firmly. "I said 'now' Helena. Hurry girls. We must hurry," she said, looking around quickly at the nearly deserted beach. It was only then that Galadriel realized Mrs. Thermopolis was holding her wand. 

Exchanging glances the three friends stuffed their towels and lotions into their bags, moving as quickly as possible. The entire process took only a matter of seconds. Mrs. Thermopolis nodded approvingly. "Ah, here's the car." She led them up the slop of the beach to the lake road, where a white sedan was waiting with Helena's latest soon-to-be-stepfather behind the wheel. 

The girls climbed into the back seat, unusually silent, and the car sped off. "I wonder what's happened?" Guinevere whispered. Gala shook her head. 

"I haven't the foggiest," she said. 

Helena was thoughtful. "Mom's upset. I mean really upset… she's never even been that ruffled over one of her divorces." 

The car slowed, pulling into the driveway of a large Tudor-style house. 'Home,' Gala thought, 'what are we doing here?'

Helena's stepfather opened the door for her and she climbed out, thanking him without using his name. She couldn't remember if he was Wallace or Jason… or was it Oliver? 

She led the way to the front door, but as her hand touched the knob she hesitated. She didn't want to open it. No, better to go back to the lake and talk about parties… The door swung in on its own, revealing a person Galadriel had not seen in years. A tall elderly man with flowing white hair and a beard he could easily tuck in his belt, and a very crooked nose. "Grandpa?" she asked, only half hearing the gasps from Guin and Helena. 

Her grandfather smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, whose usual sparkle seemed to have vanished. "Who else would I be, my dear?" he said. 

"Grandpa!" Gala hugged him, "What are you doing here? Mom and Dad never said you were coming!" 

The smile faded from his face. "No, I daresay they didn't… Come," he put a hand on her shoulder and guided her toward the sitting room. "There is much to discuss." 

Gala stopped short in the doorway to the sitting room. Something was drastically wrong. Mrs. Thermopolis sat with her husband and Mr. and Mrs. Lyons. Mrs. Lyons was crying silently. There was another man there, standing uncomfortably by the bay window. Gala took a moment to recognize him as Varian Kotas, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, 

"Galadriel," her grandfather said quietly, "I'm afraid there has been a most dreadful accident…" 

She couldn't seem to hear properly. The voices kept fading in and out… accident…dead… raid… dark magic… trap… 

She felt cold. 'Maybe I was outside too long. I bet so. I need to sleep. Definitely sleep.' She felt her knees slip, felt herself sinking to the floor. 

Someone was shaking her. Galadriel blinked, staring at Guinevere as if she'd never seen her. "Galadriel, snap out of it!" Guin whispered. 

Gala shook her head, her blue eyes filling with tears. And then she was crying on Guin's shoulder. Helena put her arms around them both, her tears joining theirs. They stayed there, forming their own circle, drawing strength from one another as their world began to tilt. 


	2. The End of a Perfect Time...

Chapter 2

The adults in the room, even the muggles, could sense the magic surrounding the three girls on the floor and had the sense to stay well away from the protective circle until they had cried all their tears. Finally the three stood. Circe and Mrs. Lyons led them upstairs to Gala's room to rest. A few minutes later the two women rejoined the group in the sitting room. Circe's new fiancee, whose name was Jason, spoke first. 

"Mr. Dumbledore, are you certain this is the right thing to do?" he asked, " I mean…"

Dumbledore nodded. "I know what you mean, sir. And no, I am not completely certain; one can seldom be sure in these situations. But she will be safest this way." 

Circe shook her head. "Safest perhaps. But you saw what just happened, right? They did not turn to us for comfort but to one another. They are linked, and to separate them…"

"To separate them is the only way to keep them safe. Separately they may not be as easy to find." 

Mr. Lyons stood and faced the older wizard, his green eyes, so like his daughter's, troubled. "They have been safe enough so far." 

"Only with Audric and Alyssande," the old man's voice caught ever so slightly on his daughter's name, "protecting them. And the girls cannot yet protect themselves, so it is our task." 

The others nodded their agreement, bowing the wisdom of the most powerful wizard of the age. "I will begin making the necessary arrangements for Galadriel's departure," Circe said finally, rising and walking slowly toward the door. Jason followed, and they could be heard to whisper softly to one another as they left. 

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Galadriel's recollection of the next few days was hazy- she couldn't seem to quite wake herself up. Guin and Helena stayed with her as much as possible, while her grandfather was busy conducting the necessary arrangements. She wasn't too concerned with the graves, the funeral. Didn't mean much- her parents were gone. Whatever else was done was just… stuff. 

Then Grandfather sat her down in the family room to have a talk. And the talk revealed that she was going to be moved to England. And she would be going to his school- Hogwarts. Suddenly she was awake, and reality was very much real, and she was not happy at all. 

"Hogwarts? I so do not think so!" 

"I understand you'll miss your friends…"

"Yes, I will. And I'll miss my Aerobatics team! We've been practicing for the last year- we'll be going to NATIONALS! And you want me to pack off and go to some backwater out-dated castle?"

Dumbledore sighed, and started to explain, assuring her Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was anything but backwater and out-dated. Gala wasn't listening. "Best school in Europe? So what? Goldwood is the best school in America! America- you know, the country I was born and raised in? I am not going. I'm staying home." 


	3. The Arrival

Galadriel stared unhappily out the window as the plane hit the runway at Heathrow Airport. She'd tried everything- sulking, screaming, crying, hunger strike, reverse psychology, hysterics, fainting. Just to name a few. Grandpa won. As always. She wasn't quite sure how exactly, but he had. And now she was here: England. The good old U.K. She knew how it must have felt in the old days when girls got sent to convents, never to speak or laugh or have fun again. That's what this was. She was an orphan and now she'd been sent to the convent. At least she could remember her friends' tearful goodbyes and the only slightly reserved farewell party. 

This moping line of thought got her all the way through customs. She was met at the gate by a stern-looking woman wearing a sensible tweed suit, and sensible shoes, with her hair in a severe bun. "You must be Ms. Goldhart," the woman said, looking at her through square-rimmed glasses. "I'm Minerva McGonagall, deputy head mistress of Hogwarts School."

Galadriel eyed the woman warily. "Where's grandpa?" 

"He received an urgent owl from the Ministry, and so he sent me to collect you." 

"Oh." Great, she just got here and she was already being collected like trash… "Well, nice to meet you Minerva. I'm Galadriel… so, we best be going right? I never was really big on airports," Gala said, smiling her most winning smile- the one Guin claimed could win anyone over, when she say McGonagall blanche at being called by her first name by a kid. 

"Erm, yes… we should be. Come along," McGonagall grabbed one of Galadriel's suitcases, "there's a car waiting outside."

And what a car- it looked like it should have been safely ensconced in a classic car museum. That or some Tommy-toting gangster should have been leaning out of the back window spraying bullets at a barbershop window. If Gala had been channeling Al Capone she would have loved it. As it was she missed the Bureau cars back home- late model luxury sedans. Still, the car wasn't all bad: the seats were comfy, the driver silent, and the ride was much less bumpy than one would expect. And all her bags fit in the trunk. She kept her carry-on with her in the back seat, and opened it while McGonagall was enumerating the various wonders and allures of the great school of Hogwarts.

The woman also seemed to be very impressed by Galadriel's grandfather. But then, everyone was, really. 

Gala nodded in all the right spots, not hearing a word, as she reached into the carry on. 

The bag was enchanted to have several extremely large compartments. Finally she opened the right one… and an indignant yowl was heard from the bag. 

Minerva stopped mid-sentence. "What on earth… Ms. Goldhart?" 

Gala smiled. "Sorry, Minerva," she said as she opened the bag wide and tipped it onto the seat. A moment later what appeared to be a tabby cat with huge ears and a lion's tail stalked out of the carry on bag. "But Marmalade was wanting out." 

"That's a kneazle… you do have a license I hope?" Minerva said disapprovingly. 

"Duh. Grandpa got her for me ages ago… I was about 6, which is why she has her unfortunate name Lady Marmalade. But she seems to like it." Gala laughed and stroked the overly large ears. 

"I hope you don't intend to keep her with you in the dorms?" Minerva asked, eying the Kneazle sharply. 

"Of course I do. Grandpa already okay'ed it if you're worried about that," Gala said dismissively. "So, where are we headed anyway?"

Reluctantly taking her eyes off the creature, and privately wondering what Dumbledore was thinking to allow a full-blooded Kneazle in the dorms, McGonagall answered the girl's question. "Diagon Alley. You'll need to pick up your books and school robes before classes begin." 

Gala's blue eyes flared wide. "School robes? A uniform? You have uniforms?"

"Of course." 

"He never told me that. Not a word of it! I'd never have agreed to this! How could he? How could he? I hate uniforms! That's cruel, so cruel- they turn everyone into a clone, wiping out individuality and resulting the erosion of one's imagination! They make you into a freaking clone!"

McGonagall was taken aback by the girl's furious tirade. "Ms. Goldhart!" she said shaply. "I assure you our students are quite healthy and happy in their uniforms. They do indeed retain their 'individuality' and are scarcely unimaginative… and what in Merlin's name are clones?"

"Of course you say that- you have to. And clones are… er… never mind…" She was saved from further questions as the car came to a stop in front of a shabby little pub. "What's this?"

"The Leaky Cauldron. Come along, the car will be back in two hours. We need to get your shopping done." McGonagall produced a list from somehwhere, grabbed Galadriel's wrist, and swept her out of the car and into the dark pub. 

Gala had only a vague impression of a hopelessly antique bar, odd patrons, and they were out back of the building. McGonagall tapped her wand on some specific brick and the wall simply parted. 

Galadriel stared open-mouthed at the street before her. Crowds of wizarding folks, all in robes and hats, were mulling along a cobbled street filled with magic shops of all descriptions. 


	4. The Start of Term Feast

Disclaimer: Hogwarts, Harry, and Co. are not mine. Alas. More's the pity… 

Note: Hey, peeps, some more reviews please? Oh, and btw- thanx Shadowgirl! 

Chapter 3 

Gala had barely seen her Grandfather since she arrived- he was always busy, dashing off to the Ministry, or locked in conference with someone. She'd dealt with it though, after all, it had to be hard to be the greatest wizard of the age. So Galadriel had wandered around the castle, much to the annoyance of Argus, the groundskeeper, and she had found that even Peeves the Poltergeist stayed away from her. He seemed to be afraid if he pulled something on her he'd be kicked out by Dumbledore… 

But in all her wanderings, she had come to a realization. She hated this place. HATED it. The castle was cold, drafty, dark, and dank. The staircases moved, the portraits talked, the ghosts were awful. And that poltergeist- Ugh! And she couldn't go anywhere without getting lost. Oh, and not to forget that there was a sea monster in the lake and even worse things in the forest. There was also the niggling little voice in the back of her head that kept pointing out just how busy her grandfather was: just busy enough to avoid speaking to her. 

So she was going to have to figure out some way to get home. The best way that had occurred so far was to be expelled. The matter of finding the best, quickest, surest way to expulsion was still burning in her mind the night of the Start-of-Term feast. 

She was to wait in a small room off the Great Hall while the first years were sorted. So she waited, peeking out occasionally at the floating candles, sea of black hats, the dull roar of laughter and applause… 'These hats are awful! Helena and Guin would die laughing if they saw this…' 

Her mind was just conveniently producing some examples of the wonderfully sarcastic remarks her friends would be making when she heard the Hat call out the last kid's house. Her grandfather stood once more, paused to let the applause from the tables die down and then spoke. "I know you are very anxious to begin the feast, but the Sorting is not yet finished. We still have one more student- a fifth year transfer from America." There was a rush of whispers. Dumbledore smiled, looking over to the doorway where Galadriel waited, and he nodded to her. 

"Goldhart, Galadriel," McGonagall said, reading the name from her list. 

She stepped out, walking across the dais to the stool beside Minerva, her pace even, her shoulders straight, chin high, a not-quite-smile fixed on her face. The posture of someone accustomed to walking across stages. She sat down, facing the students, apparently oblivious to the curious stares and whispers. Then McGonagall put the hat on her head. 

"hmmm…" the hat whispered, "Very bright… oh, yes, very bright. You'd make a good Ravenclaw. But wait, what's this? Ah, you do love action. Maybe a little too much…" the hat sounded amused but then paused, "Oh, dear! Not very happy are we? Well, don't' worry, you'll like it here!"

'Please hurry! And no, I'm not happy. I'm getting stared at like I'm a freaking piece of meat!' 

"No need to get huffy! Well, no matter. I know just what to do with you… GRYFFINDOR!" 

The table decorated with crimson and gold erupted in enthusiastic applause. Galadriel handed the hat to Minerva and glanced at her grandfather who smiled at her, even bestowing a small wink. Galadriel laughed and went to her new house table. 

There was a lot of scooting a scrambling to make room, but by the time Gala reached the table she took an empty seat next to two identical red-headed boys, and a girl with very frizzy hair. Gala winced at the girl's poor hair. Helena would have loved to do a makeover on the girl. Her grandfather proceeded to make several announcements, apparently most regarding things the caretaker had outlawed and reminding them of curfews and the fact that the Forbidden Forest was, surprise surprise, still forbidden. 

After the announcements were made the food appeared. English food. Gala put a few things onto her plate, studiously avoiding the things that were called puddings. She wasn't hungry so she simply toyed with the food. 

The redheaded boy beside her grinned and extended a hand. "I'm George Weasley. That's Fred," he pointed at his twin. Gala shook the hand. 

"Hi. Nice to meet you both." 

"How do you say your name again?" asked a pretty girl across the table from her, with dark brown hair. 

"Galadriel… But most times I go by Gala." 

"Where did you go to school?" asked the frizzy-haired girl. 

"Goldwood Academy," Gala told her.

"D'ya mean they have castles in America?" asked another red headed boy, this one was sitting across from the frizzy girl. 

Gala laughed. "No, well, not many. Goldwood is in an old Victorian mansion. It's not nearly as big as this place." 

"Why did you transfer here?" asked a boy with big round glasses, and a mop of dark hair. Gala looked down at her plate, pushed the food around. 

"I came to live here with my Grandfather. My parents died this June." There was silence at the surrounding table. 

"I'm sorry," the boy said with genuine sympathy, as though he knew exactly how that felt. She looked up at him, and her mouth dropped. 

"You- you're Harry Potter, aren't you?" 

Harry smoothed the hair back down over his scar. "Er… yeah." Gala grinned. 

"Grandpa forgot to mention that you went here…" 

"So, Gala, do you play Quidditch?" asked George… no, wait, Fred. George was next to her. 

"What?" 

"Quidditch," Fred repeated, "Do you play?" 

"Oh, that British game!" she smiled and shook her head. "No, we played Quodpot mostly. But I was on the Aerobatics team. I was hoping to try out for the Hogwarts aero…" 

"The what team?" asked George

"What's Quodpot?" asked a boy in dredlocks. 

"The aerobatics team. We do all sorts of stunts and tricks on broomsticks… Our team at Goldwood was favored for nationals." 

Harry looked interested, but before he could ask anything Dredlocks and Fred demanded to know what a Quodpot was. 

"Well, it's like Quidditch, I guess… except with a cauldron at each end of the field. And only one ball… You have to get the ball down the field, into the other team's cauldrom before it explodes." 

"Explodes?" frizzy girl asked, looking horrified. 

"Yeah. The cauldron's have a potion in them to keep the balls from exploding." 

"Excellent!" declared Fred and George, exchanging an impish glance. 

Gala spend the rest of the feast explaining Quodpot to Fred, George, and the boy in dredlocks whose name turned out to be Lee Jordan. 

When the festivities were finally over, Hermione Granger of the frizzy hair took charge of the first years, as she was apparently a prefect, complete with a bright shiny badge. Prefect was a glorified word for hall moniter as far as Gala could tell, but it seemed to make the prefects happy… 

She followed the twins and Lee, who were busy telling her tales of their greatest exploits. If anyone could help her get thrown out of Hogwarts, it would have to be this group… 


End file.
